


Too Busy Earnin'

by Ninjaninaiii



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Christmas, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Powerplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 09:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5534504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ninjaninaiii/pseuds/Ninjaninaiii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short domestic drabbles</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Busy Earnin'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smol son chase](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=smol+son+chase).



> this is potentially the worst thing i've ever written. Merry Christmas.

“Jack… What is that?”

Rhys did not trust the box on the table. It was small, slightly damp-looking and making a strange sound. And was a present from Jack. None of the above boded well.

“Present. From me. You’re welcome.”

“Jack, it’s vibrating.” Rhys put a tentative hand to the cardboard and moved the box, slightly, wondering if it might explode at the movement.

“They tend to do that.”

“They, Jack?” Rhys took a step back, all extremities far from the box, now. “Bombs vibrate.”

“So do a lot of things when you touch them.” Rhys could tell Jack was wiggling his eyebrows, could feel it in every fibre of his being, so he didn’t look.

“What is it.”

“Look and find out,” Jack said, chin resting in palms, elbows on the table.

Rhys looked. He found a cat. “It’s a cat,” he said, no less tentatively than before, still looking like it might explode.

“I found it. That’s what charitable people do, right? When they find an abandoned cat by the side of the road? Keep it? I suppose that makes me a mighty fine person,” Jack said, pointing both his thumbs at himself. “Such a good guy.”

“Okay when you say you found it by the side of the street-“

“In the box- I didn’t just steal it, cupcake.”

“You know I don’t like cats, right?” Rhys thought it better to get this point out of the way as quickly as possible, so he didn’t have to face the lie becoming too much bigger.

“Nope. I do though, so that’s okay. I was thinking about naming it Jack.”

“You’re going to name the cat you’re giving me… that I don’t particularly want or like… Jack? After yourself.”

“Jack is a good, strong name for a cat. Plus it’s adorable. Like me.”

Seeing that Jack would probably never touch the thing, Rhys took it upon himself the close in on the box, looking at the mass of fur hiding in one of the corners.

It was a relatively attractive looking thing, not too shabby for a stray or a mongrel. And, as Rhys found by sticking his hand in the box, docile too. It was wary at first, but soon sniffed at his hand, gave him a cursory once over, then licked the hand, pushing against his fingers in the hopes of a scratch. The vibrating was growing and Rhys could feel it more now that the creature was pressed against his fingers. Feeling like there was nothing for it, he gave in and patted the thing’s head, not really knowing how much strength cats liked. He experimented with scratching a little harder and found it more receptive, until he went a little too far and the thing- cat- …Jack Jr., broke away, sending him a small warning.

“It’s kinda cute, I guess,” Rhys admitted, and Jack could only purr himself.

-

Jack’s lip curled up at the sight of Rhys in the kitchen, attempting to make breakfast as quietly as he could. Rhys had only partially dressed, shirt over underwear, and yet had still managed to get his socks on. One socked foot scratched the other as he leaned against the counter, drinking his coffee like he might be considering using the mug as a pillow.

Jack got quite the thrill from wrapping his arms around Rhys’ waist from behind, making the man jump out of his skin, nearly getting a mugful of steaming coffee in the face. He laughed, kissing Rhys’ neck. “Nice shirt.”

“Fuck off,” Rhys probably said, though this early in the morning it was more “FFFFfaaaahhh.”

“No really, the colour really suits you.” Jack pulled at Rhys’ collar, then nipped the skin of his neck underneath. “Though I prefer when you’re not wearing clothes at all…” Non-receptive, Jack continued to rock Rhys from behind. “Is the shirt new?”

Rhys shook his head, then looked down at himself. He stopped, pulled a corner of material out to look at it, then attempted to unbutton it.

“Woah we’re going for it?” Jack spun Rhys around, helping to free the buttons with one hand, the other going to grab the countertop in order to stable them.

“Isn’t my shirt,” Rhys said, enjoying the kiss but somewhat distracted by the clothing dilemma. “Your shirt?”

“Ain’t wearing a shirt, hun.” Jack had stripped the first moment he could, his shirt already on the floor.

“No, no, this one.” Rhys pushed back, both hands on Jack’s chest to get his attention. Rhys escaped from Jack’s mass, taking off the shirt to look at the label. “…This… is my favourite shirt.”

“Good, okay, now we’re sorted-“

“It used to be white.” Rhys didn’t sound quite so sleepy. “This is my favourite shirt. It used to be white.”

“Ah.”

“…Ah?” Rhys raised an eyebrow. Jack didn’t quite look sheepish, but he had a slight distance to his expression.

Jack seemed to come to some kind of conclusion, the apex of which was that he was to continue pressing Rhys up against their kitchen furniture. “Do you have to go to work, Rhysie?”

“Why are you trying to distract me?”

“Just asking.”

“Well unlike some of us, I’m not the head of my own company, and can’t just not go into work…” Rhys caught his breath, Jack’s fingers sliding to his waistband. “No, Jack. Work.”

Jack attempted one more kiss, but feeling Rhys’ lack of reciprocal action, Jack held his hands up in surrender, setting a beeline to the fridge instead. “Don’t see why you can’t just work for me,” he told the milk. “I would pay more.”

“I’m happy where I am.” Rhys downed his now lukewarm coffee, draining the dregs in the sink before washing, drying and putting it away, straightening it in the shelf so that it fit. “Why would I need a raise anyway?” he asked, taking his own chance at wrapping his arms around Jack’s waist, feeling Jack melt, slightly, into the gesture. “I have you.”

-

Rhys got halfway through the day before he was reminded of his shirt. It was more obvious in the daylight of the room, the pre-dawn kitchen lighting setting the cloth at a strange hue. Eating lunch, he rolled his shirtsleeves up, only to realise they were pink. He didn’t own very much pink clothing (see: none), but he recognised the style.

Rhys was very particular about doing his laundry in separate lots. You didn’t get to be where he was by mixing coloured loads with whites. He tried to recollect the last time he’d done his laundry but stalled. He knew he’d had to have done it recently, since his wardrobe seemed restocked this morning, but he couldn’t remember doing it.

Short of developing a memory-based disease, he wasn’t sure why this was happening.

Unless…

He examined his shirt again. Not ironed or pressed like he would have done. And pink, too, the shade of pink white shirts got when a stray red made its way into a wash.

But that would mean…

_No,_ Rhys thought, _he couldn’t have done._

-

“I wasn’t going to say.” Jack grinned, evidently pleased Rhys had noticed. “Boasting is such a frightful character trait, and as someone as handsome as I, I wouldn’t want to tarnish that by being a boastful person.”

“You did my laundry.”

“You’re welcome, pumpkin.”

“You ruined my favourite shirt.”

“The colour suits you. You should wear salmon more often.”

-

“Hey Yvette, do you want a cat?”

Yvette looked up from her computer, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“I have a cat, and you like cats. Do you want it? It’s been to the vet and had all the pet things done to it. It’s about this big?” Rhys held out his hands, creating a roughly cat-sized box.

“Why do you have a cat?”

“…My boyfriend adopted it. He thought it’d be cute.”

“Your boyfriend didn’t know that you hated cats.”

“Yeah, Jack’s a bit of a dick. But I love him.”

“Right. Sure. Whatever, I’ll take it.”

“Great, thank you, er, I’m not just giving it away to get rid of it, Jack’s just trying to pretend like he hasn’t got a cat allergy, but he keeps sneezing and really it’s gone from charming to being a pain in the ass.”

“Uhuh.”

“Also, when you come to collect it, you’re probably going to have to deal with a lot of shit, like, the whole ‘Handsome Jack has donated his pet cat to local school teacher, colleague of boyfriend.’

“I take it back, you can keep the cat.” Yvette paused. “Handsome Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“The boss of _Hyperion_ is your _boyfriend_? And you’ve been keeping that a secret?”

“Uhuh.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Oh hey Yvette, how’s it going, just wanted to let you know, you know Jack, CEO of _Hyperion?_ Yeah, I had him last night. Got to know him ‘intimately’, if you know what I mean.”

“Fair.”

“Then we went to the grocery store together and bought organic falafel, toilet paper and new bedding because Handsome Jack, CEO of Hyperion and all-round perfect specimen is an absolute slob-”

“Right.”

“And whenever I go to reach something from a high shelf he’ll always lean over me to get at it despite him being what, like, an inch or two taller than me? Jesus, what an asshole.”

“Got everything out?”

“There was this one time, he fucking pushed me against his wall and-”

“Okay cowboy, I’m going to cut you off there, because I really don’t give a shit.” Yvette pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. “He treat you well?”

Rhys nodded, instantly.

“Great. So now I know you’re flush with cash, you’re treating me to lunch.”

“That’s- completely predictable, yeah.” Rhys patted his trousers for his wallet. “Don’t forget you’re taking that cat.”

“Shit.”

-

Rhys came home to find Jack setting the house on fire.

“JACK.” Rhys stripped off his coat, using it to dampen the flames roaring out of the fireplace. “Why are you setting the house on fire?” This was said loudly, in a panicked crescendo.

“I was cold!” Jack didn’t seem too worried about the fire, standing just behind Rhys and looking like he was trying to find a way to help but didn’t want to get in the way.

“We have central heating!”

“It didn’t feel dramatic enough.”

Rhys wanted to say that literally burning the house to the ground verged far from dramatic and more to traumatic, but his favourite coat was now turning to charcoal, martyred well to quash the now reasonably sized fire. “What the hell did you put in this fire, petrol?”

“…It wasn’t lighting…”

“Christ Jack, you didn’t actually…?”

“What’s the big problem, it’s out, isn’t it?”

“What’s the big problem?” Rhys repeated, blinking in disbelief. “Jack, you could have gotten yourself killed.”

“You were worried about me,” Jack teased.

“I’m always worried about you. You’re a health hazard. Constantly.” Rhys held his jacket in front of him, mourning the large hole in the middle of the back.

“I’ll buy you a new coat. A better coat. And people like their lovers dangerous. It’s thrilling. I read it somewhere. I probably said it, someone wrote it down, and then I read it.”

“One day you’ll take an eye out, or someone else’s, and then you’ll think ‘oh why didn’t I listen to poor dear Rhysey he was obviously right and I’m such an idiot.”

“I’m sure I will, cupcake.” Jack took the coat from Rhys, balled it up and threw it into the waste-paper basket. “You’re going to have to find a different way to keep me warm.”

Rhys made an attempt at rolling his eyes at the clichéd line, but cheese-y at it was, would it work on him? Damn right it would.

-

Rhys woke up at five in the morning, sweltering. He’d nearly sweated through his t-shirt, the thick, down duvet kicked off of the bed in his sleep. The bed was empty, too, which was a first. Jack didn’t tend to do early mornings. He managed to get himself up and into a new shirt, changing out of his thick, fleece pyjama bottoms and into his thin shorts.

“Jesus Jack it’s like an oven in here.” Rhys walked into the living room to find Jack in an open Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t like winter. I’m pretending it’s summer until it’s summer.”

“I thought you wanted the roaring fire and the ominous amount of layers. The theatricality. You look like a dad.”

“I’m always beautiful and you love me.”

“That may be true, but it’s December. You can’t wear Hawaiian shirts in December.”

“I’m staving off the winter blues.”

“You’re never blue-”

The rest of Rhys’ sentence was cut off by his scream as the lights went out, the two of them jumping and adopting fighting stances. Rhys nearly cried when he felt something touch his back, but relaxed when Jack whispered his name in Rhys’ ear. They kept silent as they stood, one of Jack’s arms around Rhys’ waist, trying to breathe in time. When they’d calmed enough to realise the heavy breathing was their own, they let out shared sighs of relief.

“So…. Do you have any idea where the fuse box is?” Jack shook his head. “Would you know what to do if we found the fuse box?”

“I saw it on TV once. They pull a thing?”

“They pull a thing. Great.”

“Does this mean I have to put on a jumper?”

The room was steadily becoming less like a sauna, and more like a normally heated house, which didn’t bode well for the insulation on the house they had. Rhys added it to a list of things he’d mentally stored away for the future of their house. “Probably, yeah. Maybe a coat too.”

It turned out that not even a coat was enough, doubling up on jumpers and pulling on scarves for good measure. Beneath it all, Rhys could still see Jack’s stupid shirt.

“We could go to a coffee shop or something, see if it’s warmer there.” Rhys checked his watch. Six AM, there’d be a Starbucks open somewhere. “I’ll get my keys. Can you check if the windshield needs defrosting?”

Rhys jogged upstairs to grab his wallet and keys, coming back downstairs to a rather confused-looking Jack.

“What.”

“I think I know why the lights are out,” Jack said, leaning agaist the doorframe of the living-room. He tilted his head inside the room and Rhys followed him. Jack pulled back the curtain he’d obviously just looked out of and used a finger of his other hand to beckon Rhys.

Rhys looked out of the window and couldn’t work out what he was seeing. “That’s a lot of snow.”

“We’re snowed in,” Jack supplied, helpfully. “We’re going to have to repopulate the Earth. We’re doomed. We’re going to die here, stranded, with no food or drink, it’ll come down to me or you, and you’ve got a prosthetic arm, so I can’t even suggest you lose a limb first… Plus I’m chubbier than you, which we all know means I’ll taste better when I’m roasted…” Jack covered his belly with both of his hands, as if Rhys might jump him. “You’re always kissing my belly you monster, you were trying to get a free taster!”

Rhys whacked him, purely on principle. “I’m hungry.”

“You’re not getting Handsome Jack Supreme for breakfast.” Jack then winked, shooting finger guns at Rhys. “Maybe for afters though.”

Rhys went into the kitchen, glad it was probably dark enough that Jack couldn’t tell home much of an effect he had on him. Not that Jack didn’t already know, but still. Principles. “We can’t open the fridge, we’re supposed to keep as much cold in… which means we’re going to be having…” Rhys pulled out a box of multigrain cereal.

“Well this will be dull.”

While Jack got out bowls and cutlery, Rhys went to find a candle they could use, setting it on the dining table (a safe distance from Jack’s reach.) He poured out cereal for Jack, then some for himself. When he sat, opposite Jack at the empty table bar the man opposite, he frowned. It was an awfully romantic set-up for two men in thick coats eating large bowls of dry, healthy grains.

“So, do you come here often?” Jack asked, obviously picking up on the same vibe as Rhys.

Rhys tried to wet his mouth with water after his third moistureless spoonful. “Does that line work on anyone?”

“Only one. He was this cute, innocent little thing.”

“Oh really. And you’re sure it was the line that worked?”

“Well it’s the whole package, isn’t it. Line, face, inappropriate misconduct in the toilets…” Jack winked, though its power was slightly dampened by the spoon half-eaten mouthful still in his mouth.

“You’re gross.”

“And yet here we are. Me, you, the bowls of cereal, the candles…” Jack pushed himself back in the chair so that it scraped across the floor. “I don’t think we should go outside.”

“No?” Rhys feigned ignorance, taking another large spoonful of cereal and licking it slowly. “What do you suggest instead?” Rhys stood, deciding he wasn’t hungry anymore. He went to stand above Jack, smile still innocent.

“Those sheets still need consummating…”

“Oh really?”

“Mmm.” Jack sat back in his seat, waiting for Rhys to bend to him.

Instead, Rhys dug into his pocket, brought out a bundle of greenery and held it above him. He raised an eyebrow.

Jack’s eyes followed the curve of Rhys’ arm, considering the mistletoe for a second before dropping back down to Rhys’ grin. “If you want it…” Rhys started, slowly, smile widening as Jack’s eyes adopted a playful edge. Still he sat, watching Rhys like a cat stalking its prey.

Just when Rhys could no longer bear the look without crumbling, Jack released a laugh, shook his head and started to stand. Rhys dropped the mistletoe, grabbed Jack by the scarf and pulled him closer. “Gotta keep warm,” he said, between kisses. “Gotta conserve body heat.”

 

 

 


End file.
